


- lapsus linguae - a slip of the tongue -

by otter



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-14
Updated: 2011-08-14
Packaged: 2017-10-22 14:47:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/239211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/otter/pseuds/otter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Rodney kissed Samantha Carter, it was entirely by accident.</p>
            </blockquote>





	- lapsus linguae - a slip of the tongue -

The first time Rodney kissed Samantha Carter, it was entirely by accident.

Which was not to say that Rodney had tripped on his own shoelaces and happened to stumble into her lips-first, but rather that kissing her was not at all, in any way, what he'd intended to do with his day. What he'd meant to start with, actually, was to point accusingly at the smoldering mainframe and say, "You see, I was right. You're so incredibly _wrong_ that just running a _simulation_ of your idea has caught one of the mainframes on fire. But hey, you're so good at improvising solutions, why don't we just go ahead and make your modifications to the stardrive anyhow? I'm sure we'll only have, oh, a _hundred percent_ casualties, when the entire city breaks apart and then explodes."

He'd meant to say all that, and finish it off with the most condescending smile in his considerable arsenal, and maybe fold his arms very manfully across his chest while he waited for her to start apologizing for marginalizing his research and staging a hostile takeover of his department. He might've held out for her regrets on belittling his contributions during the Teal'c thing, and during the exploding Stargate thing -- and of course there was the Siberia thing -- but he figured that one of them had to be the bigger man, so to speak, and let bygones be bygones. He wasn't holding onto any of that anymore, anyway. Didn't even think about it. Ever.

And anyway, he was such a nice guy that once Carter had admitted that she was incredibly wrong, and admitted even in a roundabout way to his intellectual superiority, he would've graciously taken back the proverbial reins, reassumed his rightful leadership role, and gotten everyone working on his own foolproof plan for handling the big emergency. The work would've been done in time for lunch.

It didn't happen that way, and that was her fault, too; she was the one who'd turned around with her hair a little singed around the edges, a smear of gray-black ash across the bridge of her nose, a wild look in her eyes. She was the one who'd held up a raw, red fingertip, bared her neat white teeth at him, and said, "Do _not_ say it, McKay."

Which was why everything he'd been about to say caught on his tongue and took a pratfall back down his throat, and why the pointing hand he'd been planning to use to bring attention to Carter's failures got sidetracked with gripping her gently by the wrist. It was probably also why he said, "You burned your hand," in an entirely too soft tone of voice and carefully cradled her fingers in his palm while he examined the damage.

On the bright side, the whole thing seemed to be as unexpected and mystifying to her as it was to him, so she didn't immediately react with a punch in the face or anything. And that small luxury of time allowed Rodney to say, "Zelenka, start running those scenarios I gave you this morning. I'm taking Colonel Carter to the infirmary. And somebody put that fire out."

When he led Carter out into the hallway, he did it with one hand supporting hers -- there was blood, welling up in big slow drops as if she had artesian fingerprints -- and his other arm around her shoulders, just added support in case of shock. And she was shocky, had to be, otherwise he didn't suppose that she'd let him stand in this kind of proximity, and she certainly wouldn't let him lead her along, either. So he was, for the most part, devoting himself to worrying about burn damage, infection, blood pressure, and he wasn't thinking at all about kissing her.

The infirmary was only a few steps away, door-to-door, because similar incidents had convinced Rodney that Lab Six was best located with extremely close access to medical assistance, which meant right next door to the transporter. So the fact that Carter started protesting just as they passed through the lab doors meant that she only got a few words out before they were standing on the threshold of the infirmary, and whatever she might've said after, "McKay, you are such a--" was mercifully cut short when Carson said, "Well now, Colonel, what's happened to you?"

While Carson cleaned, treated and bandaged Carter's hand, Rodney was relegated to the next bed, where he was allowed to sit -- quietly -- and wait -- quietly -- and not move. About thirty seconds in, when Rodney was opening his mouth to break the noise-related embargo, Carter looked up, glared, and said, "No, I don't need to wear a hospital gown for this."

"Hey, did I ask?" Rodney said, only slightly indignant because he probably would have, eventually.

Carson coughed, like he was choking on something -- probably whatever he wanted to say, the coward -- and ducked his head a little lower than was strictly necessary for wrapping somebody's hand in gauze. "You lost quite a bit of skin on your ring finger here, Colonel," he said. "The pad may feel numb as it's healing up, but the nerves will grow back along with the skin. You'll likely have a wee bit of a scar, I'm afraid."

Carter shrugged with her eyebrows so she wouldn't jostle the arm, and said, "I've had worse. I have to say, so far Pegasus isn't living up to its press as far as constant life-threatening danger goes."

"Yes, too bad the Wraith took this week off, hm?" Rodney said. He was breaking the no-moving rule now, too, swinging his legs over the edge of his bed. "If you're bored, I'm sure we can find something for you to do that doesn't involve destroying valuable computer equipment."

"That's cute," Carter said, in a way that meant it really, really wasn't.

"Aye; he's a charmer, our Rodney," Carson said, in a nearly identical tone of voice. "You're all set, love. Keep the bandages dry and see me tomorrow; we'll take a peek at it and make sure there's no infection."

"What, that's it?" Rodney said. He hopped down from his bed, crowded in a little closer. "Are you sure? I mean, shouldn't she stay here for observation or something?"

"Hah!" Carter said, before Carson even had a chance to answer; not that he would've said anything different, but there probably would've been less scorn involved. He was removing himself from the field of battle, though, edging away from the occupied beds and back toward his wee-white-mouse collection. "You just want to keep me away from your little fiefdom," Carter said. "Afraid I'll inspire the peasants to revolt?"

Rodney snorted, inelegant but effective, and said, "Please. Zelenka's the only one with any spine and he's practically dwarf-sized. And pardon me for showing a little concern for your well-being, but the last time we played out this little scene--"

"You'd _electrocuted_ me," Carter interrupted. "Luckily for me, when I screw up I don't go as big as you, McKay. I think I'll survive a few little burns."

"Yeah, well, you wouldn't survive your brilliant idea, if we actually tested it in the lab," Rodney pointed out, finally getting back on track with his original argument, if somewhat belatedly. "Are you ready to admit that I'm right and try things _my_ way this time?"

"Actually, yes," Carter said. "Being a scientist and therefore open to the idea that any one problem has many possible solutions. And being a well-adjusted human being capable of admitting that I might occasionally be wrong about something, I am perfectly happy to admit that my idea didn't work. And being very _very_ charitable, I'm willing to admit that you might, just this one time, be right about something."

And that was when things spectacularly derailed, and instead of producing a witty rejoinder like he meant to, he unintentionally, completely accidentally, put his hands on her face and his lips over her lips and his tongue somewhere in the back of her throat.

She tasted like fruit loops -- and he still thought it was weird that the U.S. military complex was shipping fruit loops to the Pegasus galaxy -- and she was surprisingly agreeable to being accidentally molested. She didn't strike any delicate parts of his anatomy, and her tongue met his in what might've been self-defense, and he supposed it was probably just the shock, all of it, but Carson had given her the all-clear so she was _so_ not going to be able to use that excuse later.

"Sorry," he said, when he pulled back, and he could feel her breath against his chin, wet and warm just like her mouth, and he suddenly became aware of exactly what he'd just done.

She said, "You are?" kind of incredulously, leaned back from him a little further and started giving him the skeptical eyebrow.

"Well. No. Canadian," he explained, and pointed a finger at his own chest, illustratively. "It's kind of a knee-jerk response. I repress it mostly, but the really awkward social situations tend to bring it out and I start apologizing for... sorry. I'm rambling. Sorry."

"Hey," Carter said, putting her good hand on Rodney's shoulder in a gesture that was something maybe a little warmer than friendly concern. "You're freakin' me out, McKay."

"I know," Rodney said, frowning. "Sorry."

"Aht! Shush!" Carter said, holding her bandaged hand up in a stopping motion. The gesture was disturbingly reminiscent of General O'Neill; Rodney knew first-hand, because General O'Neill had tended to "Aht!" at him a lot during their short association. It was a little weird on someone he'd just been kissing, but he wasn't exactly behaving normally himself, so he didn't have much room to complain.

"Um," Rodney said, eloquently.

"I really prefer the kissing to the apologizing," Carter said. "Just so you know. For future reference."

"Oh," Rodney said. "Really?"

"Yeah," Carter said. Then she pushed him back, since he'd ended up standing between her knees somehow, and she hopped down off the bed. "It's too bad I'm only here for another week. We'll probably spend all our time on the tests and simulations. Otherwise I'd let you buy me dinner, if you'd promise to be fifty percent less insufferable."

"Really?" Rodney said again. He was starting to feel like a really poor conversationalist, but at least he wasn't apologizing anymore, and he figured he could hardly be blamed for his lack of verbal ability when he could still taste sugary cereal he hadn't eaten.

"Well, maybe seventy-five percent," Carter said. She gave him an assessing look, and then she said, "Anyway. Back to work," and walked out of the infirmary.

Rodney watched her go, then watched the closed door, then finally made himself move. "Shut up, Carson," he said, in the general direction of the snorting withheld-hilarity sounds coming from across the room.

When he got back to Lab Six, Carter was already helping to salvage the hard drives from the mainframe she'd destroyed, and Zelenka had thrown out her simulation model, and Rodney's too, and had the entire lab hard at work on his own concept, which Rodney had to admit -- but only in the private confines of his own mind -- was extremely good.

They weren't done by lunch, but Zelenka, who had declared himself dictator for the day in the power vacuum left by Carter's failure and Rodney's absence, banished everyone from the lab at dinnertime and prohibited anyone from returning until morning.

The food in the mess was always free, so Rodney didn't technically have to buy Sam's dinner, but he did do the gentlemanly thing and carry the tray.

the end


End file.
